


Little bee

by jamlockk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bees, Fluff, silliness, this is so dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: "The first indication that things had gone slightly not according to plan was that the kitchen table now seemed very much too big. And too close. And oddly… big. As best he could, Sherlock looked around. Oh terrific. John was going to laugh himself silly when he got home. If he didn’t swat Sherlock first."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this silliness came out of a group chat where I said: "OMG what if Sherlock got turned into a bee for a day?!" and everyone demanded I write it. This was written in like 30 mins. Just so you know.

The first indication that things had gone slightly not according to plan was that the kitchen table now seemed very much too big. And too close. And oddly… big. 

 

Sherlock shook his head and tried to stand. He succeeded in this, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the additional legs, and how his body was different. He could sense the flowers Mrs Hudson had put on the windowsill. He could smell all sorts of things he hadn’t noticed before. The once gentle autumn breeze floating through the open window now felt like a gale blowing through his leg hairs. 

 

Leg hairs?! Wait…

 

As best he could, Sherlock looked around. Oh terrific. John was going to laugh himself silly when he got home. 

 

If he didn’t swat Sherlock first. 

 

***

 

John came home a few hours later, calling for Sherlock as he entered the flat. There was no answer. Frowning at the mess in the kitchen (bloody honey DNA experiment), he got out two cups, filled the kettle, and set it to boil. He leaned back against the counter and surveyed the mayhem left by his ludicrous, suspiciously absent flatmate. 

 

Glassware dribbling honey was scattered around, and Sherlock’s indecipherable notes were also doused with the stuff. The kitchen smelt almost sickly sweet and John was suddenly reminded of a favourite childhood book about a Bear of Very Little Brain. He chuckled to himself, wondering if Sherlock had read of Pooh’s adventures as a boy too. 

 

He didn’t notice the buzzing in his ear, lost in his thoughts. He absently flapped his hand in the direction of the noise, and yelped when he realised there was a bee right in front of his face. 

 

“Come on you,” he told it, “out you go.” He picked up the nearest (clean) bunch of papers and tried to waft the bee towards the window. The bee however, had other plans, and buzzed angrily at John’s hair. 

 

“Alright, calm down!” John said, brushing it out of his hair and trying not to freak out. He wasn’t especially fond of small buzzy insects, too many bites from his army days. But Sherlock loved bees, and John loved Sherlock, so he left it be. 

 

As it were. 

 

The bee seemed to cling to his finger and John slowly turned his hand over, watching in fascination as the bee happily crawled over his fingers and palm. 

 

It seemed to settle in his palm and John could feel its feet tickling his skin. He gently extended his hand towards the table so the bee could land there instead, but it was strangely reluctant to move. John sighed in exasperation.

 

“I need that hand, I need my tea!” he told the bee. “Bloody hell, I’m talking to a bee, Sherlock would laugh himself silly,” he muttered as the bee reluctantly evacuated his hand and began lapping at a puddle of honey on the table. 

 

John watched the bee for a little while, then took his tea into the sitting room. He’d just made himself comfy in his chair to wait for Sherlock to come home so they could order dinner, when a petulant buzzing sounded close to his head. 

 

“What the-”

 

The bee was sitting on his collar. John jerked in surprise and the bee took off again, flying around him as if scolding him for moving. 

 

“Well, I don’t know what you want,” John exclaimed, “I don’t speak bee!” 

 

The bee buzzed dismissively and settled down on John’s knee. John shrugged and picked up his book. 

 

***

 

At some point John must’ve dozed off. The flat was dark and there was a warm weight on his lap. He wrapped his arms around the warmth and hugged it close. It was almost as if….

 

He came to with a start and opened his eyes to take in what he held in his lap. 

 

“Why are you naked?” 

 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well, there is an explanation,” he said. 

 

John hummed. Sherlock blushed and shifted a bit. John tightened his arms a touch. 

 

“John, I-” Sherlock began, then hurriedly pressed his lips to John’s. He pulled back almost immediately. 

 

“John, I-” he began again. 

 

“Hush, little bee,” John murmured, and leaned in to kiss Sherlock again. 

 

“Did you just call me little bee?”

 

“Problem?”

 

“N-no, not at all,” Sherlock said, still blushing and leaning in for more kisses. 

 

He’d been right though. John did laugh himself silly when he found out Sherlock accidentally turned himself into a bee for a short while. But as he laughed himself silly naked, sated and tangled in Sherlock’s sheets, Sherlock decided he didn’t really mind.


End file.
